Bandom: Head's in Heaven, Soles're in Hell 2/2
Continued from Part One.
:: :: ::
Brian’s rummaging through Bob’s refrigerator for formula for the puppy when he notices the note. It must have fallen off, and Brian picked it up.
“Bob?” he calls.
“Yeah?” Bob asks from the other room.
“What does this note mean?” There’s way too much suspicion in his voice for Bob to wave it off, especially when Brian charges into Bob’s face and waves the note in it. Clearly, the subject of the note is just as obvious to Brian as it had been to Bob.
“Uh,” Bob says. “It’s a note from my boss,” he says weakly.
“Your boss,” Brian repeats dully. There’s bite hiding just under the surface of those words, and Bob knows he needs to tread carefully. “You should be happy I found this instead of Patrick. He’d tear you apart.”
“He’s an Angel,” Bob says.
Brian shrugs. “Angels aren’t Nice all of the time. There’s that whole wrath of God thing.”
“Um,” Bob says.
Brian snorts and tosses the note to the floor.
“How were you planning on doing it?” Brian demands. He’s still up in Bob’s face.
“Um,” Bob repeats, warily. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
Brian snorts. “Of course you’ve thought about it. Even before you were given the order from your boss.”
“Um,” Bob retaliates.
Brian may be shorter than Bob, but when he’s angry, Bob’s no match for him, and Brian has Bob cornered on the couch.
“Were you going to go for adultery?” Brian asks. There’s a change in his voice that gives Bob emotional whiplash. Brian’s not pissy anymore. He’s -
Brian cups Bob through his jeans.
Bob tries to conceal his squeak, and he’s mostly successful.
“Were you going to seduce one of us?” Brian purrs. “Had you decided which of us would be your target?”
Bob tries to answer, but his throat has closed up.
Brian squeezes Bob lightly through the denim and then snakes his hand down Bob’s jeans.
Bob’s breath comes quick and short. He’s not sure if he’s panicking or turned on. He’s half hard, whichever it is.
“What - what’s going on?” Bob gasps out. He should know better than to question what he knows is coming (him), but he’s a little confused as to how his friend and doorman has him pinned on the couch with a hand down Bob’s pants.
Brian snaps open the front of Bob’s jeans. “I’m going to give you the best damn blowjob of your life.”
“Unlife,” Bob corrects.
Brian chuckles deep in the back of his throat. It sounds gravely, like he’s already given Bob the blowjob, which would be so unfair, because he hasn’t.
Bob whines, now fully hard.
“Ah,” Brain says. “You’re an impatient one.”
He presses his face into the crook of Bob’s neck and bites down lightly. Bob keens softly.
“I knew you’d be a talker,” Brian says triumphantly before he bites down even harder.
“Knew you’d be a biter,” Bob responds breathily.
Brian hums as he pulls at Bob’s dick, and then pulls it out of his jeans.
Bob watches as Brian sinks down to his knees in front of Bob’s couch. In front of Bob. He’s on his knees in front of Bob, and Bob’s dick is exposed to the elements. Except he really doesn’t have to worry about that for long, because Brian sucks him down whole. Bob can fucking feel the back of Brian’s throat, and Brian doesn’t so much as gag. The wet heat is intense, and Bob can feel the insides of Brian’s cheeks sucking at him.
Brian stays like that, slowly pressing his tongue in tiny circles on the underside of Bob’s dick as Bob looks down at Brian’s hollowed cheeks.
Bob’s thighs begin to tremble, and Brian presses down and out on them with flat palms. Bob needs friction, damn it. The sensation of Brian’s tongue is a tease. Bob wants to fuck Brian’s mouth until his voice is raw for a week, so that there will be no doubt in Patrick’s mind what Brian was doing with his afternoon.
And then Patrick will tear Bob limb from limb, but he’s not going to think about that now, not while Bob can feel the smoothness of Brian’s palette against the head of his dick.
Brian bobs his head and does something with his tongue that make Bob’s eyes roll back in his head and cause him to clutch at anything he can, which includes Brian’s hair.
Bob’s pretty sure he’s turned into a babbling mess, but his nerves feel like they’re being pulled from his body, and Brian shows no signs of slowing down. In fact, he’s speeding up, and it’s in time to the hand that he has down his own pants.
“Guh,” Bob says. He knows he’s close to the edge, and he wants to warn Brian, but all Bob can manage are monosyllabic grunts and an occasional whine.
“Ima,” Bob manages to squeeze out before he shoots down Brian’s throat.
Brian doesn’t seem at all surprised, and he swallows effortlessly. He gives Bob one last suck around the head of his dick before he peels off with a pop.
“Guhn,” Bob says.
Brian chuckles, his hand still working in his pants. He then pauses and shudders.
They sit together in the living room, panting.
Brian makes a face at his pants and makes a dash for Bob’s bathroom.
Bob takes that moment to attempt to compose himself and, at the very least, tuck himself back into his jeans.
Brian returns and sits next to him on the couch. His hair is at all angles, and his lips are flushed with blood.
“Um,” Bob says. “What the hell just happened?”
“If you make one rigor mortis joke, I’ll kill you again,” Brian says. His voice sounds wrecked, Bob notes with a hint of pride.
“Jesus,” Bob groans. “Patrick’s going to kill me.”
“If you’re a good boy,” Brian says slowly, “Patrick will fuck you.”
Bob swallows hard as his dick makes an interested twitch.
“Tell your boss that Patrick and I have been together since the ‘60’s, and it’s going to take a bit more than a Demon intern a few days dead to undo that,” Brian says.
Some fuzzy part of Bob’s mind reminds him that he never said he was a Demon intern, not to Brian, not even to Patrick.
“You’re making my job difficult,” Bob mutters.
Brian shrugs and reaches up to kiss Bob.
Bob’s not expecting that at all, and he’s caught off guard by it, by how dirty it is, by how Brian uses his tongue for Evil, by how Brian tastes like Bob’s mouthwash. He wasn’t expecting a kiss at all. Of course, he hadn’t expected a blowjob either.
Brian breaks the kiss, and then gives Bob one last peck on the lips before he’s out the door, and Bob is left mostly still confused.
:: :: ::
Bob keeps waiting for something to happen. Something probably painful and probably involving Patrick and a flaming sword. Bob doesn’t think that Patrick has a flaming sword, but it’s always a possibility.
He also is worried about the note on his refrigerator. It still has those same three words on it, and Bob’s not sure what to do.
He spends his days sitting on a bench in Central Park with the puppy either hanging out in his sweatshirt pouch or exploring the grass around the bench on a short leash. The puppy is still too young to walk, so he travels in either the sweatshirt pouch or hood. Bob varies his place day by day, but he always finds a place. He buys used books on the street and reads them. In case Ryland is watching, Bob sometimes reads books like Dante’s Inferno, Paradise Lost, and, for the irony of it, Good Omens. He never read them when he was alive, and he wants to know if there is a bit of truth to any of them.
He’s halfway through Good Omens when he realizes why Patrick asked him about naming the dog. Maybe Bob’s reading too much into the situation, maybe not.
The puppy is snuffling in his sleep next to Bob on the bench, and Bob’s a bit surprised when Patrick sits down next to him on the other side. Bob has been expecting Ryland to hunt him down first. Bob’s week is almost up. Either way, it’s a conversation that Bob doesn’t want to have.
Bob’s not even sure how Patrick found him. It’s a big city, and Bob’s never in the same place twice.
Patrick doesn’t say anything, so Bob goes back to reading. He’s fairly certain Patrick won’t try to kill him in the middle of the day.
“Brian has an amazing throat,” Patrick says conversationally.
Bob chokes on his breath.
“He told me everything,” Patrick continues. He examines his fingernails. “He’s a big talker when I fuck him.”
Bob coughs uncomfortably. It sounds a bit too much like a wheeze.
“Oh?” Patrick says. “He didn’t talk for you? Hm, it must have been hard with your cock down his throat.”
“What?” Bob chokes out.
“He also told me about the note,” Patrick says.
Bob stays quiet.
“Brian and I have been together since 1963,” Patrick says. “We can’t be torn apart easily. And we know how to play the system.”
Bob nods.
Patrick leans into Bob’s personal space to whisper in a hoarse baritone, “It involves lots of sex.”
Bob tries not to twitch, and he feels Patrick’s hand burning high up on his thigh. Patrick has long fingers, and they run down the inseam of Bob’s jeans to his knee.
“Demons are on earth because they’re special,” Patrick says. “Angels are on earth because they’re to be forgotten. And only a few demons know this.”
“What?” Bob repeats. He’s not sure how this statement connects to the last statement Patrick made. Unless the flippant statement about sex was just to rile Bob.
“Once you’ve been part of the system for more than a century,” Patrick says, “you know about all the loopholes and learn how to, uh, implement them.”
“You’re suggesting I - I have no idea what you’re suggesting,” Bob says.
“You have a case manager,” Patrick says.
Bob nods.
“But you’re not his only case, right?” Patrick asks.
Bob nods again.
“And your boss wants you to tear me and Brian apart,” Patrick says. “Wouldn’t it be better in your boss’s eyes if you corrupted an Angel?”
Bob stares at Patrick incredulously. He’s pretty sure that Patrick just propositioned him.
“If I what?” Bob asks.
“Demons know notoriously little about Angels,” Patrick says. “If you corrupted one, it would put you in favor with your boss.”
“Are you asking me to…” Bob trails off. He doesn’t want to say “asking me to have sex with you,” because that’s not what one asks on a bench in Central Park in the middle of the day.
“That’s exactly what I’m asking you to do,” Patrick says. “Brian and I will be at your apartment after his shift.”
Patrick stands up, straightens his shirt, and walks off. He then pushes a passing man into a pond.
“What the fuck?!” Bob demands as the man sputters.
“He was about to steal your wallet,” Patrick says. He adjusts his fedora and leaves Bob a little dizzy.
:: :: ::
Bob has a mild heart attack when there’s a knock on his door. He doesn’t even open it before Patrick and Brian come gallivanting inside. Brian’s carrying a grocery bag, and Bob eyes it warily.
Brian doesn’t stop. He heads directly for Bob’s bedroom and upends the bag on Bob’s bed.
“Um,” Bob says.
Patrick breezes by him and into Bob’s bedroom as well.
“What?” Bob asks.
Brian sighs and pulls Bob into his bedroom. He then latches his mouth onto Bob’s lower lip, biting down. His arms wind themselves in Bob’s shirt, and he sucks at Bob’s mouth like he’s never going to stop, and Bob doesn’t want him to. Bob fights back. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to give as much as he gets.
Bob vaguely registers tiny noises that Patrick makes. He’s too busy gnawing at Brian’s face, and Brian’s gnawing back.
There are hands in the waistband of Bob’s pants, and he’s pretty sure they’re not Brian’s. Bob’s going to have trouble keeping track of everyone’s hands. They’ve barely started and he’s unsure whose hands belong to - he doesn’t even know how many hands are on him. It feels like fifty, and his clothes are rapidly vanishing only to find themselves on a pile on the floor. And Brian’s still trying to choke himself on Bob’s tongue. Or choke Bob with his own tongue. Bob’s not sure and really doesn’t care.
But Brian’s mouth disappears, and Bob makes a pleading sound.
Patrick kisses him next. It’s different than Brian. Patrick is just as demanding but less aggressive and doesn’t bite as much as Brian.
Bob’s entire body hums.
There’s a hand on his back that must be Brian’s, because Patrick’s are buried in Bob’s hair. Brian’s hand pushes Bob and, as a result, Patrick to the bed until the mattress hits the back of Bob’s knees and he stumbles backwards.
Patrick doesn’t fall on top of Bob or at all, and Bob kinda envies him for his balance and composure.
Patrick and Brain openly stare down at Bob, and for the first time, Bob feels self-conscious about this entire ordeal. He quells the urge to curl in on himself but just barely.
Patrick catches it, though. He sprawls out on the bed next to Bob and slings an arm and a leg over him.
Brian frowns and pushes Patrick off Bob so he can sprawl on top of Bob. He bites down Bob’s throat and down his chest, as one hand supports himself and his other hand pulls at Bob’s dick. Somehow Brian had coated his hands with lube, so his hand is slick and warm and so damn good on Bob’s dick.
Bob’s hips snap despite his orders to keep them still.
Patrick squirms up toward the head of the bed as Brian flips Bob onto his stomach - his hand never leaving Bob’s dick. Brian’s other hand ends up digging softly into the globe of Bob’s ass.
Bob hadn’t even realized his eyes had closed, until he feels hands cupping his face, and his eyes fly open.
Patrick cradles Bob’s head, but he brings it down to his dick. Bob doesn’t even think before he sucks it into his mouth. It’s hot and fills his mouth so completely. Bob hums in satisfaction. He hadn’t even known he wanted this so much, but he does.
Patrick kneels in front of Bob and moves his hands from Bob’s face to his hair, and he watches Bob intently with those bright eyes. Bob watches back.
Brian’s hand has left Bob’s dick, but it’s okay, because Brian’s using both his hands to spread Bob open and using his tongue for what his hands can’t achieve. Bob nearly chokes on his surprise and Patrick’s dick.
For all that Brian enjoys biting Bob, Bob enjoys the expertise Brian’s tongue brings to the table. It twists and turns and makes Bob wish he could beg for more - larger - than Brian’s tongue, but he can’t beg, because his mouth is wrapped firmly around Patrick’s dick, so Bob whines in the back of his throat and hopes they understand.
Bob pulls off Patrick’s dick, so he can slide his tongue down to Patrick’s balls.
Bob can barely hear over the rush of blood in his ears, but Patrick’s been spewing filth. Bob only catches snippets of it, but Patrick’s giving Brian directions, and before Bob is aware of it, he’s mimicking Brian’s movements with his tongue.
Bob’s jaw is at the warning stages of soreness when Patrick pushes Bob off his dick and further impales him on Brian’s tongue.
Bob whimpers as Brian slides his tongue down to the back of Bob’s balls.
Bob cries out as Brian penetrates him with a finger, crooking it and adding another.
Brian and Patrick have a dialogue, but Bob can’t catch it, he can only hear his own panting and keening and, one embarrassing time, mewling.
Brian keeps adding fingers, and Patrick disappears from Bob’s field of vision. Then Brian’s fingers disappear.
Bob’s just about to complain when he feels the blunt head of a dick against his ass.
Brian flips Bob over again, and he comes face to face with Patrick. Patrick who has his dick poised so damn close to where Bob wants it. So damn close. Bob wiggles his ass. He needs this, and he’s not above begging.
Brian holds onto Bob’s shoulders as Patrick slowly, slowly enters Bob. Bob clenches around Patrick, trying to pull him in deeper, because Bob fucking needs this.
Patrick denies Bob everything. He moves slowly, undulating his hips slowly, pumping slowly. Bob tries to buck his hips, but Brian bites Bob’s neck, distracting him for a moment. When Bob focuses again, Patrick begins to pump his hips more fervently.
Yes. That’s what Bob needs. Bob also needs to come.
Brian’s arms trail down Bob’s chest, lightly dragging his fingernails across the skin.
Bob’s entire body is on fire: he’s trembling with want and need and something else that he can’t put his finger on.
Brian wraps his hand around Bob’s dick again, and that’s all Bob needs to send him over. It’s a bit of a surprise he lasted as long as he had.
Patrick follows soon after, and that leaves Brian.
Bob’s brain is blurring around the edges, but he still has enough coherency left to twist himself around and swallow Brian’s dick whole. Bob, however, does not have enough brain power left not to choke when Brain immediately comes in Bob’s mouth.
Good thing both Patrick and Brian are there to take care of Bob afterwards.
:: :: ::
Brian tends to be very clingy in the afterglow. Bob hadn’t thought about it the first time around, but in his defense, he had been very confused. What surprises Bob even more is that Patrick tends to be giggly in the afterglow.
He giggles as he explains that Bob is corrupting him; Bob even encouraged him to push a guy into a pond.
“You knocked a guy into a pond,” Brian says, aghast.
Patrick shrugs with a smile. “Bob’s corrupting me.”
He kisses a messy, wet trail down Bob’s neck beginning behind his ear and ending at Bob’s clavicle, which he nips.
“Nuih,” Bob says. He’s still a little fuzzy, but if Patrick wants to play the system, all the more power to him. It saves Bob a lot of grief and makes his unlife so much easier. And - oh, Patrick really is an Angel. Huh. He’s a little twisted, not that Bob’s complaining.
Patrick chuckles lightly and nips at Bob’s clavicle again.
Brian snorts. “You’re so malleable.” He pokes Bob in the ribs, and Bob just rolls with it.
“You bite,” Bob retorts.
“I know,” Brian says wickedly. He bites at the closest part of Bob he can find. It happens to be Bob’s pectoral.
Bob lazily swats at Brian.
The door to Bob’s apartment bangs open, and before anyone can react, Asher stands in the doorway to Bob’s bedroom with a dark cloud hanging around her - quite literally.
“Victoria,” Patrick purrs. “Bob’s your intern?”
Asher frowns. “Bryar,” she says in a poisonous voice. “What the Hell is going on here?”
“Corruption of an Angel?” Bob doesn’t mean for it to be a question, but Patrick and Asher aren’t supposed to know each other. And Asher isn’t supposed to be in Bob’s bedroom, especially when he’s sandwiched between an Angel and a Reaper.
“That was not on your note,” Asher says. Her voice still has no budge to it.
“Um,” Bob says. “I’m improvising.”
“Cocksucking isn’t improvising,” Asher says, and Bob knows he’s not going to win this. Not just after his brains oozed out his dick.
“He’s not trying to usurp you, Asher,” Patrick says. “And he’s certainly not trying to kill you.”
“Yes,” Asher says. “Which is the problem.”
“You want me to try to kill you?” Bob asks. “That’s a bit strange.”
“Your evil isn’t exactly Evil,” Asher says. “This is your only warning. While I approve trying to dupe Ryland, that is not as Evil as you should be. Do what the note tells you to do. Step up, or it’s the Pit.”
She then storms out.
“Um,” Bob says. “You and Asher know each other?” It’s probably the wrong question to ask, but that conversation was weird.
“Victoria?” Brian asks.
“We have a history,” Patrick says, as if Brian and Bob couldn’t have come to that conclusion on their own.
“Really?” Brian asks dryly.
“We’ve had some altercations in the past,” Patrick says. “She’s a devil woman.”
“She’s a femme fatal,” Bob says, raising his eyebrows.
“That, too,” Patrick says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “She’s going to be tricky to work around.”
“She already knows what you’re doing,” Brian says.
“I’m still curious how you ended up on the Naughty List,” Patrick muses. “Victoria has to know that something bizarre is going on.”
“You know who would know,” Brian says. There’s something to his tone that makes Bob think it’s horribly unpleasant.
“I do,” Patrick says miserably. “Is it really worth it to ask him?”
“Possibly,” Brian says. “Hey, Bob, you wanna know why you’re on the Naughty List?”
Bob opens his mouth to say of course he is, but Patrick beats him to it.
“If this is part of the ineffable plan, I’d rather not mess with it,” Patrick says. “If it’s not to Bob’s benefit to leave Victoria’s employ, I’d rather not have to ask him.”
“He would know,” Brian insists, and Bob is lightheaded trying to keep up with the pronouns thrown around.
Patrick sighs and humphs as he climbs out of Bob’s bed. “Both of you had better put clothing on - not just boxers, fully clothed, all of you. Then join me in the bathroom.”
:: :: ::
Bob doesn’t have a small bathroom. In fact, it’s quite large by New York standards, but with three men in it, it seems smaller.
Patrick takes a deep breath. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks for the thousandth time.
“Just do it, Stump,” Brian growls. “I want this over with as soon as possible.”
Patrick grumbles, then he looks at his reflection in the mirror. “Last chance to back out.”
“Stump,” Brian says tersely.
“Fine.” Patrick takes another deep breath. “Pete Wentz, Pete Wentz, Pete Wentz.”
There’s a soft pop, and a tiny man sits on Bob’s bathroom counter. Bob can see the black roll off him in waves, and Bob’s wary.
“Lunchbox!” the man shouts and latches himself onto Patrick. “I knew you’d come back to me!”
“Pete,” Patrick says thinly.
“You only call when you want something,” Wentz grumbles. He eyes Bob. “He’s new to your collection. And it looks like he’s recently had your cock down his throat.”
Bob flushes slightly.
“And up his ass,” Wentz adds with a tilt of his head.
“You know why I summoned you, Pete,” Patrick says.
“Aw,” Wentz coos, “don’t be like that, Pattycakes.”
Patrick growls.
“Yeah,” Brian says drolly, “don’t be like that, Pattycakes.”
“This was your idea,” Patrick reminds him dangerously. It has an undertone of “I will remove your appendix through your throat” to it.
“You didn’t summon me because you wanted to,” Wentz says with a pout.
“Pete,” Patrick says tightly. “This is Bob. He’s been put on the wrong List.”
Pete leans over to Bob and sniffs him. It’s only mildly creepy compared to all the indignities Bob’s suffered in the past week or so.
“He smells like sunshine, puppies, and cocaine,” Wentz decides. In Bob’s defense, he only did coke once, and that was when he was a freshman in college. “And Patrick spunk.” He takes another sniff. “And Brian spunk.” Wentz gives Brian a wicked grin and an eyebrow waggle. Now Bob realizes why Patrick wanted everyone dressed for this.
“He rescued puppies last week,” Patrick says.
“Did you save one for me to eat?” Wentz asks eagerly.
“No!” Bob says, horrified.
“Huh,” Wentz says. “He is on the wrong List.”
He gives Bob a too-close inspection, and Bob’s about to smack him when he pulls back.
“Who’s your boss, kid?” Wentz asks.
“Asher,” Bob says.
“Ah, the lovely Victoria,” Wentz muses. “That means Gabe placed you.”
“Saporta?” Bob asks. “Yeah.”
“I’ll see what I can find,” Wentz says. “You owe me, Lunchbox.”
There’s a soft pop, and Wentz’s gone.
“Lunchbox?” Bob asks.
“There are some questions,” Patrick growls, “that should never be answered.”
“Can he help?” Bob asks instead.
“Oh, yeah,” Brian says. “Despite personality defects, he’s good at what he does.”
“How long will it take?” Bob asks.
“It depends on how high up the error goes,” Patrick says. “But Pete can get into all sorts of circles easily.”
Bob’s not sure if he’s relieved or not. He most definitely doesn’t ask why Patrick’s on such friendly terms with a Demon.
:: :: ::
The note on Bob’s refrigerator is a bit singed but otherwise blank.
:: :: ::
Patrick seems more taken with Bob’s puppy than the puppy had initially been with Bob. Bob and Brian sit on Bob’s couch and watch Patrick play games with the puppy. Most of the games involve the puppy lopping around the floor and attacking Patrick’s hands, arms, fingers, hat, whatever it can reach.
Bob feels ridiculously comfortable. Like he belongs. There’s something different about this than Bob’s actual life. He can’t put his finger on it, but he’s comfortable.
Brian leans into his side and says, “Our dog is teething.” It’s careless the way he says it, but Bob. Bob doesn’t know how to take it: Brian leaning into Bob’s side, Bob being at ease with the gesture, or Brian referring to the puppy as “our.”
Patrick curses at the puppy as it chomps down definitively on his fingers.
Brian smiles as Patrick shakes out his fingers. “C’mere,” Brian says. “Bob’ll kiss it and make it better.”
“Not with dog spit all over it,” Bob says. He needs to put his foot down somewhere. Otherwise, he’d kiss Patrick’s fingers. And enjoy it in all its domestic simplicity. He’s not going to completely be Brian’s bitch. Or domesticity’s bitch.
Except. Patrick pouts at him. It’s juvenile and stupid, but Patrick actually pouts at him.
“Fine,” Bob grumbles, motioning Patrick over to the couch. He’s going to put Patrick in charge of the puppy’s paper training - especially the cleanup.
:: :: ::
There are no more noises Bob has to listen to through the wall. He’s plenty busy. He never had this active of a sex life when he was alive. He’s had his share of dates and hookups, but he’s never… Yeah. Christ, looking back on his life is fucking depressing.
And threesomes should be on everyone’s Bucket List. Seriously.
:: :: ::
Pete Wentz is sitting on Bob’s bathroom counter. Bob wishes he were wearing at least boxers, especially with the appraisal in Wentz’s expression. Especially when that appraisal turns into something more sly.
“Is there something you need, Wentz?” Bob asks. He tries his hardest not to cover himself up with his hands. Wentz’s already seen what Bob has to offer, it would be stupid to cover up now. And futile. He’d have to hide his junk and the bite marks on his inner thigh and chest. (Brian likes to bite, okay?) He steels himself for whatever Pete has to dish out.
“I see you can keep Pattycakes satisfied,” Wentz says.
Bob leans against the wall. “You’re not here to see what I have to offer,” Bob drawls, trying to calm himself down. Wentz is (hopefully) here to help Bob out, even if that means antagonizing Bob. Wentz is a Demon, Bob reminds himself.
“Is Patrick here?” Wentz asks.
“Is he needed for this?” Bob responds.
Wentz shrugs.
Bob rolls his eyes. “Patrick!” he calls. “Brian! Put some pants on. Wentz is here.”
Wentz looks pleased with himself as he swings his legs, banging them off the cabinets under the counter.
Brian and Patrick stumble into the bathroom. Thankfully with clothing.
“What?” Patrick demands irritably. He then focuses on Wentz. “Oh. You.”
“Don’t sound too excited there, Patrick,” Wentz says a little bit bitterly.
“It’s two in the morning,” Brian grumbles. “This had better be important.”
“It is,” Wentz says.
“Well?” Bob prompts.
“Bob’s placement on The List isn’t ineffable,” Wentz says. “But it did come from high up. That’s all I can tell you. Other than Bob’d better do what’s on the note.”
“That’s vague, even for you,” Patrick says. He folds his arms over his chest.
“I’m not saying that bending the rules could be a bad thing,” Wentz says with a shrug.
“What are you saying?” Bob asks.
Wentz shrugs again. “You’re a Demon, because that’s what The List says. But someone put you there for a purpose, albeit not an ineffable one.”
“If you say the universe is counting on me, I will punch you in the throat,” Bob threatens. He narrows his eyes menacingly.
“Nothing like that,” Wentz says with a pop. “It’s not a mistake that you’re on the Naughty List. That’s all.”
“That’s not helpful,” Bob says.
Wentz shrugs. “You owe me payment, Pattycakes.” He then disappears with a pop.
Patrick groans. “He knows a lot more than he’s saying. And if he expects payment, he’ll have to say it all.”
Wentz pops back into Bob’s bathroom. “Not nice, Angel,” he declares. “Maybe you’re on the wrong List, too.”
“I’m not,” Patrick says. “This is about Bob anyway.”
“He just didn’t want to play his harp,” Wentz whispers to Bob.
“Angels don’t have harps,” Patrick grumbles. “And that’s still not the point.”
“Maybe it’s his cherubim cheeks,” Wentz says.
Patrick growls.
Wentz bats his eyelashes at Patrick. “You shouldn’t be so cranky.” He points to Bob. “Especially when that’s been up your ass.”
Bob punches Wentz in the throat. Well, he means to, but Wentz blinks out of existence and back in after Bob nearly stumbles over.
“He’s only trying to rile you up,” Patrick says. “Ignore him.”
“It’s working,” Bob mutters.
“If he expects payment,” Patrick says. “He’d better answer everything to the fullest extent.”
“Bah,” Wentz says. “Fine. But no one’s going to like it.”
He pops out of Bob’s bathroom.
“Go put some clothes on before he comes back,” Brian suggests.
Bob wastes no time bustling out of the bathroom to cover up.
:: :: ::
The note on Bob’s refrigerator has words on it, but they look like they’ve been washed out.
:: :: ::
It takes Wentz three days to pop back into Bob’s bathroom.
“We’re going on a field trip,” he announces.
Bob’s thankfully clothed, because Wentz had waltzed into Bob’s living room. He didn’t know Wentz could leave the bathroom.
“Grab your shoes!” Wentz says. Bob wonders if there’s a way to keep Demons from entering his apartment, but thinks better, because he is a Demon. So that wouldn’t work out too well. “And Patrick and Brian!”
“Brian’s working,” Bob says.
“He’s off shift in, like, two seconds.” Wentz grabs Bob’s hand and leads him out of his apartment.
:: :: ::
Wentz leads Bob, Patrick, and Brian to someplace downtown, and Bob’s not exactly shocked when they head into the basement.
“Is this...?” Patrick asks.
Wentz nods, so Bob thinks at least two people know what the hell is going on. Pete then bangs in a door, and Bob’s been here before. Not here, a basement in New York City, but behind that door.
The walls are deep violet, and Saporta sits with his feet propped up on his desk.
“Welcome,” Saporta says. His creepy grin is firmly in place. “I’ve come topside for you, Bryar.”
“You’re special, dude,” Wentz says. He sits up on Saporta’s desk. Saporta kicks him in the ass.
“And I’m here because Saporta has the answers?” Bob asks.
“You’re here because Gabe is the reason,” Wentz says.
Bob isn’t sure why he didn’t make the connection to begin with: Saporta was the one who gave him his placement. But nothing about Bob’s unlife has been simple; he didn’t exactly expect this part to be.
“You put me on the Naughty List?” Bob asks.
Saporta shrugs and smirks.
“Why?” Bob prompts.
He doesn’t expect a direct answer, so he’s even more surprised when Saporta gives him one.
“Vicky-T needed a decent intern who wouldn’t try to kill her and take her job,” Saporta says.
“So you thought, ‘Let’s take Bob. He once jaywalked.’?” Bob snorts.
“Nah,” Saporta says. “It was all chance.”
“Chance?” Bob feels himself begin to growl. “You fucked with my unlife because you had the chance?”
“I’m a Demon bureaucrat,” Saporta says. He gives Bob that creepy smirk. Of course, Bob totally should have seen that coming, but. He doesn’t belong on the Naughty List.
“At this point, you have a choice to make,” Saporta continues. “Pete wouldn’t stop until he ended here, so, Bryar, you are now in control of the outcome.”
And holy shit, Saporta is damn Evil.
Bob turns to look at Patrick and Brian helplessly. He has no idea what to do.
“If you stay where you are, you still need to do what the post-it notes say,” Saporta says. “If you decide you want to be on the correct List, I don’t have a fucking clue what will happen to you.”
“If you change Lists, you won’t end up on earth,” Brian says. “It’s your choice. Stay here with a Demon boss or… leave.” If Bob didn’t know any better, he’d swear there was an unheard “us” at the end of that sentence. That’s a little too heavy for Bob to process at the moment. He isn’t exactly sure how part of an ‘us’ he is. Or how long that us would last.
“This turmoil is delicious,” Saporta purrs. His purr is just as creepy as his smirk, and Bob feels that he needs to take a long shower when they’re through.
Wentz nods in agreement.
Bob looks to Patrick.
“I made it my mission to Save you,” Patrick says. “So that’s what I did.”
“Well?” Saporta prompts, his grin firmly in place.
“Fuck,” Bob says vehemently.
“It’s seems you’ve been doing a lot of that recently,” Saporta says. “And rescuing puppies without the intent to eat them.”
“Maybe I’m just saving him for later,” Bob responds petulantly.
Saporta cackles along with Wentz.
Bob can’t think. He’s always sucked at making decisions - major decisions - quickly and without the guidance of his mother. (His Momma’s awesome, so shut the fuck up. That does not make him a Momma’s Boy.)
“I’m staying,” Bob says. This is a bureaucratic society he’s stuck in, so he adds, “But I want to negotiate a contract for my terms of employment.”
“Done,” Saporta says. He kicks his feet off the table. “Asher will discuss this with you at a later date.”
Wentz hops off the table and ushers Bob, Patrick, and Brian back up the stairs.
Once they’re all back on the street, Wentz says, “I want my payment, Pattycakes.”
“Fine,” Patrick grumbles. “What do you want this time?”
This time? There were other times?
“Have a mirror set up on your bedroom ceiling for an entire week,” Wentz says with a grin.
“Done,” Patrick agrees. “Starting tomorrow.”
Wentz punches the air in excitement then pops out of existence.
“Pete uses any mirror or reflective surface to do whatever the fuck it is he does,” Brian explains to Bob, who’s a bit confused as to why a mirror would be payment. “He can see out of them or teleport or whatever.”
Patrick turns to Bob. “I’m spending the next week at your place. Keep your mirrors covered.”
“Dude,” Bob says slowly. “Staying at my place isn’t a problem. I mean, I think I just gave up Heaven for you guys.”
Brian smirks at him. “We’re very much aware of that. And very appreciative. I’m taking next week off.”
“I think I will, too,” Patrick decides.
“And so will Bob,” Brian adds. The look he throws Bob’s way is smoldering.
Bob flushes.
“We should hit up a convenience store,” Brian suggests. “We’re almost out of condoms.”
“And I need a mirror,” Patrick adds.
“To not use,” Brian continues.
Bob stands back and lets the banter wash over him as they walk down the street - back to Bob’s apartment. Where they will probably spend the next week.
“We’d better stock up on food, too,” he suggests. “And formula for the puppy.”
He gave up Heaven for these guys, but he’s not about to go hungry for the next week, because there is no way in Hell he’s leaving his apartment in that time.
the end
:: :: ::
Brian’s rummaging through Bob’s refrigerator for formula for the puppy when he notices the note. It must have fallen off, and Brian picked it up.
“Bob?” he calls.
“Yeah?” Bob asks from the other room.
“What does this note mean?” There’s way too much suspicion in his voice for Bob to wave it off, especially when Brian charges into Bob’s face and waves the note in it. Clearly, the subject of the note is just as obvious to Brian as it had been to Bob.
“Uh,” Bob says. “It’s a note from my boss,” he says weakly.
“Your boss,” Brian repeats dully. There’s bite hiding just under the surface of those words, and Bob knows he needs to tread carefully. “You should be happy I found this instead of Patrick. He’d tear you apart.”
“He’s an Angel,” Bob says.
Brian shrugs. “Angels aren’t Nice all of the time. There’s that whole wrath of God thing.”
“Um,” Bob says.
Brian snorts and tosses the note to the floor.
“How were you planning on doing it?” Brian demands. He’s still up in Bob’s face.
“Um,” Bob repeats, warily. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
Brian snorts. “Of course you’ve thought about it. Even before you were given the order from your boss.”
“Um,” Bob retaliates.
Brian may be shorter than Bob, but when he’s angry, Bob’s no match for him, and Brian has Bob cornered on the couch.
“Were you going to go for adultery?” Brian asks. There’s a change in his voice that gives Bob emotional whiplash. Brian’s not pissy anymore. He’s -
Brian cups Bob through his jeans.
Bob tries to conceal his squeak, and he’s mostly successful.
“Were you going to seduce one of us?” Brian purrs. “Had you decided which of us would be your target?”
Bob tries to answer, but his throat has closed up.
Brian squeezes Bob lightly through the denim and then snakes his hand down Bob’s jeans.
Bob’s breath comes quick and short. He’s not sure if he’s panicking or turned on. He’s half hard, whichever it is.
“What - what’s going on?” Bob gasps out. He should know better than to question what he knows is coming (him), but he’s a little confused as to how his friend and doorman has him pinned on the couch with a hand down Bob’s pants.
Brian snaps open the front of Bob’s jeans. “I’m going to give you the best damn blowjob of your life.”
“Unlife,” Bob corrects.
Brian chuckles deep in the back of his throat. It sounds gravely, like he’s already given Bob the blowjob, which would be so unfair, because he hasn’t.
Bob whines, now fully hard.
“Ah,” Brain says. “You’re an impatient one.”
He presses his face into the crook of Bob’s neck and bites down lightly. Bob keens softly.
“I knew you’d be a talker,” Brian says triumphantly before he bites down even harder.
“Knew you’d be a biter,” Bob responds breathily.
Brian hums as he pulls at Bob’s dick, and then pulls it out of his jeans.
Bob watches as Brian sinks down to his knees in front of Bob’s couch. In front of Bob. He’s on his knees in front of Bob, and Bob’s dick is exposed to the elements. Except he really doesn’t have to worry about that for long, because Brian sucks him down whole. Bob can fucking feel the back of Brian’s throat, and Brian doesn’t so much as gag. The wet heat is intense, and Bob can feel the insides of Brian’s cheeks sucking at him.
Brian stays like that, slowly pressing his tongue in tiny circles on the underside of Bob’s dick as Bob looks down at Brian’s hollowed cheeks.
Bob’s thighs begin to tremble, and Brian presses down and out on them with flat palms. Bob needs friction, damn it. The sensation of Brian’s tongue is a tease. Bob wants to fuck Brian’s mouth until his voice is raw for a week, so that there will be no doubt in Patrick’s mind what Brian was doing with his afternoon.
And then Patrick will tear Bob limb from limb, but he’s not going to think about that now, not while Bob can feel the smoothness of Brian’s palette against the head of his dick.
Brian bobs his head and does something with his tongue that make Bob’s eyes roll back in his head and cause him to clutch at anything he can, which includes Brian’s hair.
Bob’s pretty sure he’s turned into a babbling mess, but his nerves feel like they’re being pulled from his body, and Brian shows no signs of slowing down. In fact, he’s speeding up, and it’s in time to the hand that he has down his own pants.
“Guh,” Bob says. He knows he’s close to the edge, and he wants to warn Brian, but all Bob can manage are monosyllabic grunts and an occasional whine.
“Ima,” Bob manages to squeeze out before he shoots down Brian’s throat.
Brian doesn’t seem at all surprised, and he swallows effortlessly. He gives Bob one last suck around the head of his dick before he peels off with a pop.
“Guhn,” Bob says.
Brian chuckles, his hand still working in his pants. He then pauses and shudders.
They sit together in the living room, panting.
Brian makes a face at his pants and makes a dash for Bob’s bathroom.
Bob takes that moment to attempt to compose himself and, at the very least, tuck himself back into his jeans.
Brian returns and sits next to him on the couch. His hair is at all angles, and his lips are flushed with blood.
“Um,” Bob says. “What the hell just happened?”
“If you make one rigor mortis joke, I’ll kill you again,” Brian says. His voice sounds wrecked, Bob notes with a hint of pride.
“Jesus,” Bob groans. “Patrick’s going to kill me.”
“If you’re a good boy,” Brian says slowly, “Patrick will fuck you.”
Bob swallows hard as his dick makes an interested twitch.
“Tell your boss that Patrick and I have been together since the ‘60’s, and it’s going to take a bit more than a Demon intern a few days dead to undo that,” Brian says.
Some fuzzy part of Bob’s mind reminds him that he never said he was a Demon intern, not to Brian, not even to Patrick.
“You’re making my job difficult,” Bob mutters.
Brian shrugs and reaches up to kiss Bob.
Bob’s not expecting that at all, and he’s caught off guard by it, by how dirty it is, by how Brian uses his tongue for Evil, by how Brian tastes like Bob’s mouthwash. He wasn’t expecting a kiss at all. Of course, he hadn’t expected a blowjob either.
Brian breaks the kiss, and then gives Bob one last peck on the lips before he’s out the door, and Bob is left mostly still confused.
:: :: ::
Bob keeps waiting for something to happen. Something probably painful and probably involving Patrick and a flaming sword. Bob doesn’t think that Patrick has a flaming sword, but it’s always a possibility.
He also is worried about the note on his refrigerator. It still has those same three words on it, and Bob’s not sure what to do.
He spends his days sitting on a bench in Central Park with the puppy either hanging out in his sweatshirt pouch or exploring the grass around the bench on a short leash. The puppy is still too young to walk, so he travels in either the sweatshirt pouch or hood. Bob varies his place day by day, but he always finds a place. He buys used books on the street and reads them. In case Ryland is watching, Bob sometimes reads books like Dante’s Inferno, Paradise Lost, and, for the irony of it, Good Omens. He never read them when he was alive, and he wants to know if there is a bit of truth to any of them.
He’s halfway through Good Omens when he realizes why Patrick asked him about naming the dog. Maybe Bob’s reading too much into the situation, maybe not.
The puppy is snuffling in his sleep next to Bob on the bench, and Bob’s a bit surprised when Patrick sits down next to him on the other side. Bob has been expecting Ryland to hunt him down first. Bob’s week is almost up. Either way, it’s a conversation that Bob doesn’t want to have.
Bob’s not even sure how Patrick found him. It’s a big city, and Bob’s never in the same place twice.
Patrick doesn’t say anything, so Bob goes back to reading. He’s fairly certain Patrick won’t try to kill him in the middle of the day.
“Brian has an amazing throat,” Patrick says conversationally.
Bob chokes on his breath.
“He told me everything,” Patrick continues. He examines his fingernails. “He’s a big talker when I fuck him.”
Bob coughs uncomfortably. It sounds a bit too much like a wheeze.
“Oh?” Patrick says. “He didn’t talk for you? Hm, it must have been hard with your cock down his throat.”
“What?” Bob chokes out.
“He also told me about the note,” Patrick says.
Bob stays quiet.
“Brian and I have been together since 1963,” Patrick says. “We can’t be torn apart easily. And we know how to play the system.”
Bob nods.
Patrick leans into Bob’s personal space to whisper in a hoarse baritone, “It involves lots of sex.”
Bob tries not to twitch, and he feels Patrick’s hand burning high up on his thigh. Patrick has long fingers, and they run down the inseam of Bob’s jeans to his knee.
“Demons are on earth because they’re special,” Patrick says. “Angels are on earth because they’re to be forgotten. And only a few demons know this.”
“What?” Bob repeats. He’s not sure how this statement connects to the last statement Patrick made. Unless the flippant statement about sex was just to rile Bob.
“Once you’ve been part of the system for more than a century,” Patrick says, “you know about all the loopholes and learn how to, uh, implement them.”
“You’re suggesting I - I have no idea what you’re suggesting,” Bob says.
“You have a case manager,” Patrick says.
Bob nods.
“But you’re not his only case, right?” Patrick asks.
Bob nods again.
“And your boss wants you to tear me and Brian apart,” Patrick says. “Wouldn’t it be better in your boss’s eyes if you corrupted an Angel?”
Bob stares at Patrick incredulously. He’s pretty sure that Patrick just propositioned him.
“If I what?” Bob asks.
“Demons know notoriously little about Angels,” Patrick says. “If you corrupted one, it would put you in favor with your boss.”
“Are you asking me to…” Bob trails off. He doesn’t want to say “asking me to have sex with you,” because that’s not what one asks on a bench in Central Park in the middle of the day.
“That’s exactly what I’m asking you to do,” Patrick says. “Brian and I will be at your apartment after his shift.”
Patrick stands up, straightens his shirt, and walks off. He then pushes a passing man into a pond.
“What the fuck?!” Bob demands as the man sputters.
“He was about to steal your wallet,” Patrick says. He adjusts his fedora and leaves Bob a little dizzy.
:: :: ::
Bob has a mild heart attack when there’s a knock on his door. He doesn’t even open it before Patrick and Brian come gallivanting inside. Brian’s carrying a grocery bag, and Bob eyes it warily.
Brian doesn’t stop. He heads directly for Bob’s bedroom and upends the bag on Bob’s bed.
“Um,” Bob says.
Patrick breezes by him and into Bob’s bedroom as well.
“What?” Bob asks.
Brian sighs and pulls Bob into his bedroom. He then latches his mouth onto Bob’s lower lip, biting down. His arms wind themselves in Bob’s shirt, and he sucks at Bob’s mouth like he’s never going to stop, and Bob doesn’t want him to. Bob fights back. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to give as much as he gets.
Bob vaguely registers tiny noises that Patrick makes. He’s too busy gnawing at Brian’s face, and Brian’s gnawing back.
There are hands in the waistband of Bob’s pants, and he’s pretty sure they’re not Brian’s. Bob’s going to have trouble keeping track of everyone’s hands. They’ve barely started and he’s unsure whose hands belong to - he doesn’t even know how many hands are on him. It feels like fifty, and his clothes are rapidly vanishing only to find themselves on a pile on the floor. And Brian’s still trying to choke himself on Bob’s tongue. Or choke Bob with his own tongue. Bob’s not sure and really doesn’t care.
But Brian’s mouth disappears, and Bob makes a pleading sound.
Patrick kisses him next. It’s different than Brian. Patrick is just as demanding but less aggressive and doesn’t bite as much as Brian.
Bob’s entire body hums.
There’s a hand on his back that must be Brian’s, because Patrick’s are buried in Bob’s hair. Brian’s hand pushes Bob and, as a result, Patrick to the bed until the mattress hits the back of Bob’s knees and he stumbles backwards.
Patrick doesn’t fall on top of Bob or at all, and Bob kinda envies him for his balance and composure.
Patrick and Brain openly stare down at Bob, and for the first time, Bob feels self-conscious about this entire ordeal. He quells the urge to curl in on himself but just barely.
Patrick catches it, though. He sprawls out on the bed next to Bob and slings an arm and a leg over him.
Brian frowns and pushes Patrick off Bob so he can sprawl on top of Bob. He bites down Bob’s throat and down his chest, as one hand supports himself and his other hand pulls at Bob’s dick. Somehow Brian had coated his hands with lube, so his hand is slick and warm and so damn good on Bob’s dick.
Bob’s hips snap despite his orders to keep them still.
Patrick squirms up toward the head of the bed as Brian flips Bob onto his stomach - his hand never leaving Bob’s dick. Brian’s other hand ends up digging softly into the globe of Bob’s ass.
Bob hadn’t even realized his eyes had closed, until he feels hands cupping his face, and his eyes fly open.
Patrick cradles Bob’s head, but he brings it down to his dick. Bob doesn’t even think before he sucks it into his mouth. It’s hot and fills his mouth so completely. Bob hums in satisfaction. He hadn’t even known he wanted this so much, but he does.
Patrick kneels in front of Bob and moves his hands from Bob’s face to his hair, and he watches Bob intently with those bright eyes. Bob watches back.
Brian’s hand has left Bob’s dick, but it’s okay, because Brian’s using both his hands to spread Bob open and using his tongue for what his hands can’t achieve. Bob nearly chokes on his surprise and Patrick’s dick.
For all that Brian enjoys biting Bob, Bob enjoys the expertise Brian’s tongue brings to the table. It twists and turns and makes Bob wish he could beg for more - larger - than Brian’s tongue, but he can’t beg, because his mouth is wrapped firmly around Patrick’s dick, so Bob whines in the back of his throat and hopes they understand.
Bob pulls off Patrick’s dick, so he can slide his tongue down to Patrick’s balls.
Bob can barely hear over the rush of blood in his ears, but Patrick’s been spewing filth. Bob only catches snippets of it, but Patrick’s giving Brian directions, and before Bob is aware of it, he’s mimicking Brian’s movements with his tongue.
Bob’s jaw is at the warning stages of soreness when Patrick pushes Bob off his dick and further impales him on Brian’s tongue.
Bob whimpers as Brian slides his tongue down to the back of Bob’s balls.
Bob cries out as Brian penetrates him with a finger, crooking it and adding another.
Brian and Patrick have a dialogue, but Bob can’t catch it, he can only hear his own panting and keening and, one embarrassing time, mewling.
Brian keeps adding fingers, and Patrick disappears from Bob’s field of vision. Then Brian’s fingers disappear.
Bob’s just about to complain when he feels the blunt head of a dick against his ass.
Brian flips Bob over again, and he comes face to face with Patrick. Patrick who has his dick poised so damn close to where Bob wants it. So damn close. Bob wiggles his ass. He needs this, and he’s not above begging.
Brian holds onto Bob’s shoulders as Patrick slowly, slowly enters Bob. Bob clenches around Patrick, trying to pull him in deeper, because Bob fucking needs this.
Patrick denies Bob everything. He moves slowly, undulating his hips slowly, pumping slowly. Bob tries to buck his hips, but Brian bites Bob’s neck, distracting him for a moment. When Bob focuses again, Patrick begins to pump his hips more fervently.
Yes. That’s what Bob needs. Bob also needs to come.
Brian’s arms trail down Bob’s chest, lightly dragging his fingernails across the skin.
Bob’s entire body is on fire: he’s trembling with want and need and something else that he can’t put his finger on.
Brian wraps his hand around Bob’s dick again, and that’s all Bob needs to send him over. It’s a bit of a surprise he lasted as long as he had.
Patrick follows soon after, and that leaves Brian.
Bob’s brain is blurring around the edges, but he still has enough coherency left to twist himself around and swallow Brian’s dick whole. Bob, however, does not have enough brain power left not to choke when Brain immediately comes in Bob’s mouth.
Good thing both Patrick and Brian are there to take care of Bob afterwards.
:: :: ::
Brian tends to be very clingy in the afterglow. Bob hadn’t thought about it the first time around, but in his defense, he had been very confused. What surprises Bob even more is that Patrick tends to be giggly in the afterglow.
He giggles as he explains that Bob is corrupting him; Bob even encouraged him to push a guy into a pond.
“You knocked a guy into a pond,” Brian says, aghast.
Patrick shrugs with a smile. “Bob’s corrupting me.”
He kisses a messy, wet trail down Bob’s neck beginning behind his ear and ending at Bob’s clavicle, which he nips.
“Nuih,” Bob says. He’s still a little fuzzy, but if Patrick wants to play the system, all the more power to him. It saves Bob a lot of grief and makes his unlife so much easier. And - oh, Patrick really is an Angel. Huh. He’s a little twisted, not that Bob’s complaining.
Patrick chuckles lightly and nips at Bob’s clavicle again.
Brian snorts. “You’re so malleable.” He pokes Bob in the ribs, and Bob just rolls with it.
“You bite,” Bob retorts.
“I know,” Brian says wickedly. He bites at the closest part of Bob he can find. It happens to be Bob’s pectoral.
Bob lazily swats at Brian.
The door to Bob’s apartment bangs open, and before anyone can react, Asher stands in the doorway to Bob’s bedroom with a dark cloud hanging around her - quite literally.
“Victoria,” Patrick purrs. “Bob’s your intern?”
Asher frowns. “Bryar,” she says in a poisonous voice. “What the Hell is going on here?”
“Corruption of an Angel?” Bob doesn’t mean for it to be a question, but Patrick and Asher aren’t supposed to know each other. And Asher isn’t supposed to be in Bob’s bedroom, especially when he’s sandwiched between an Angel and a Reaper.
“That was not on your note,” Asher says. Her voice still has no budge to it.
“Um,” Bob says. “I’m improvising.”
“Cocksucking isn’t improvising,” Asher says, and Bob knows he’s not going to win this. Not just after his brains oozed out his dick.
“He’s not trying to usurp you, Asher,” Patrick says. “And he’s certainly not trying to kill you.”
“Yes,” Asher says. “Which is the problem.”
“You want me to try to kill you?” Bob asks. “That’s a bit strange.”
“Your evil isn’t exactly Evil,” Asher says. “This is your only warning. While I approve trying to dupe Ryland, that is not as Evil as you should be. Do what the note tells you to do. Step up, or it’s the Pit.”
She then storms out.
“Um,” Bob says. “You and Asher know each other?” It’s probably the wrong question to ask, but that conversation was weird.
“Victoria?” Brian asks.
“We have a history,” Patrick says, as if Brian and Bob couldn’t have come to that conclusion on their own.
“Really?” Brian asks dryly.
“We’ve had some altercations in the past,” Patrick says. “She’s a devil woman.”
“She’s a femme fatal,” Bob says, raising his eyebrows.
“That, too,” Patrick says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “She’s going to be tricky to work around.”
“She already knows what you’re doing,” Brian says.
“I’m still curious how you ended up on the Naughty List,” Patrick muses. “Victoria has to know that something bizarre is going on.”
“You know who would know,” Brian says. There’s something to his tone that makes Bob think it’s horribly unpleasant.
“I do,” Patrick says miserably. “Is it really worth it to ask him?”
“Possibly,” Brian says. “Hey, Bob, you wanna know why you’re on the Naughty List?”
Bob opens his mouth to say of course he is, but Patrick beats him to it.
“If this is part of the ineffable plan, I’d rather not mess with it,” Patrick says. “If it’s not to Bob’s benefit to leave Victoria’s employ, I’d rather not have to ask him.”
“He would know,” Brian insists, and Bob is lightheaded trying to keep up with the pronouns thrown around.
Patrick sighs and humphs as he climbs out of Bob’s bed. “Both of you had better put clothing on - not just boxers, fully clothed, all of you. Then join me in the bathroom.”
:: :: ::
Bob doesn’t have a small bathroom. In fact, it’s quite large by New York standards, but with three men in it, it seems smaller.
Patrick takes a deep breath. “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks for the thousandth time.
“Just do it, Stump,” Brian growls. “I want this over with as soon as possible.”
Patrick grumbles, then he looks at his reflection in the mirror. “Last chance to back out.”
“Stump,” Brian says tersely.
“Fine.” Patrick takes another deep breath. “Pete Wentz, Pete Wentz, Pete Wentz.”
There’s a soft pop, and a tiny man sits on Bob’s bathroom counter. Bob can see the black roll off him in waves, and Bob’s wary.
“Lunchbox!” the man shouts and latches himself onto Patrick. “I knew you’d come back to me!”
“Pete,” Patrick says thinly.
“You only call when you want something,” Wentz grumbles. He eyes Bob. “He’s new to your collection. And it looks like he’s recently had your cock down his throat.”
Bob flushes slightly.
“And up his ass,” Wentz adds with a tilt of his head.
“You know why I summoned you, Pete,” Patrick says.
“Aw,” Wentz coos, “don’t be like that, Pattycakes.”
Patrick growls.
“Yeah,” Brian says drolly, “don’t be like that, Pattycakes.”
“This was your idea,” Patrick reminds him dangerously. It has an undertone of “I will remove your appendix through your throat” to it.
“You didn’t summon me because you wanted to,” Wentz says with a pout.
“Pete,” Patrick says tightly. “This is Bob. He’s been put on the wrong List.”
Pete leans over to Bob and sniffs him. It’s only mildly creepy compared to all the indignities Bob’s suffered in the past week or so.
“He smells like sunshine, puppies, and cocaine,” Wentz decides. In Bob’s defense, he only did coke once, and that was when he was a freshman in college. “And Patrick spunk.” He takes another sniff. “And Brian spunk.” Wentz gives Brian a wicked grin and an eyebrow waggle. Now Bob realizes why Patrick wanted everyone dressed for this.
“He rescued puppies last week,” Patrick says.
“Did you save one for me to eat?” Wentz asks eagerly.
“No!” Bob says, horrified.
“Huh,” Wentz says. “He is on the wrong List.”
He gives Bob a too-close inspection, and Bob’s about to smack him when he pulls back.
“Who’s your boss, kid?” Wentz asks.
“Asher,” Bob says.
“Ah, the lovely Victoria,” Wentz muses. “That means Gabe placed you.”
“Saporta?” Bob asks. “Yeah.”
“I’ll see what I can find,” Wentz says. “You owe me, Lunchbox.”
There’s a soft pop, and Wentz’s gone.
“Lunchbox?” Bob asks.
“There are some questions,” Patrick growls, “that should never be answered.”
“Can he help?” Bob asks instead.
“Oh, yeah,” Brian says. “Despite personality defects, he’s good at what he does.”
“How long will it take?” Bob asks.
“It depends on how high up the error goes,” Patrick says. “But Pete can get into all sorts of circles easily.”
Bob’s not sure if he’s relieved or not. He most definitely doesn’t ask why Patrick’s on such friendly terms with a Demon.
:: :: ::
The note on Bob’s refrigerator is a bit singed but otherwise blank.
:: :: ::
Patrick seems more taken with Bob’s puppy than the puppy had initially been with Bob. Bob and Brian sit on Bob’s couch and watch Patrick play games with the puppy. Most of the games involve the puppy lopping around the floor and attacking Patrick’s hands, arms, fingers, hat, whatever it can reach.
Bob feels ridiculously comfortable. Like he belongs. There’s something different about this than Bob’s actual life. He can’t put his finger on it, but he’s comfortable.
Brian leans into his side and says, “Our dog is teething.” It’s careless the way he says it, but Bob. Bob doesn’t know how to take it: Brian leaning into Bob’s side, Bob being at ease with the gesture, or Brian referring to the puppy as “our.”
Patrick curses at the puppy as it chomps down definitively on his fingers.
Brian smiles as Patrick shakes out his fingers. “C’mere,” Brian says. “Bob’ll kiss it and make it better.”
“Not with dog spit all over it,” Bob says. He needs to put his foot down somewhere. Otherwise, he’d kiss Patrick’s fingers. And enjoy it in all its domestic simplicity. He’s not going to completely be Brian’s bitch. Or domesticity’s bitch.
Except. Patrick pouts at him. It’s juvenile and stupid, but Patrick actually pouts at him.
“Fine,” Bob grumbles, motioning Patrick over to the couch. He’s going to put Patrick in charge of the puppy’s paper training - especially the cleanup.
:: :: ::
There are no more noises Bob has to listen to through the wall. He’s plenty busy. He never had this active of a sex life when he was alive. He’s had his share of dates and hookups, but he’s never… Yeah. Christ, looking back on his life is fucking depressing.
And threesomes should be on everyone’s Bucket List. Seriously.
:: :: ::
Pete Wentz is sitting on Bob’s bathroom counter. Bob wishes he were wearing at least boxers, especially with the appraisal in Wentz’s expression. Especially when that appraisal turns into something more sly.
“Is there something you need, Wentz?” Bob asks. He tries his hardest not to cover himself up with his hands. Wentz’s already seen what Bob has to offer, it would be stupid to cover up now. And futile. He’d have to hide his junk and the bite marks on his inner thigh and chest. (Brian likes to bite, okay?) He steels himself for whatever Pete has to dish out.
“I see you can keep Pattycakes satisfied,” Wentz says.
Bob leans against the wall. “You’re not here to see what I have to offer,” Bob drawls, trying to calm himself down. Wentz is (hopefully) here to help Bob out, even if that means antagonizing Bob. Wentz is a Demon, Bob reminds himself.
“Is Patrick here?” Wentz asks.
“Is he needed for this?” Bob responds.
Wentz shrugs.
Bob rolls his eyes. “Patrick!” he calls. “Brian! Put some pants on. Wentz is here.”
Wentz looks pleased with himself as he swings his legs, banging them off the cabinets under the counter.
Brian and Patrick stumble into the bathroom. Thankfully with clothing.
“What?” Patrick demands irritably. He then focuses on Wentz. “Oh. You.”
“Don’t sound too excited there, Patrick,” Wentz says a little bit bitterly.
“It’s two in the morning,” Brian grumbles. “This had better be important.”
“It is,” Wentz says.
“Well?” Bob prompts.
“Bob’s placement on The List isn’t ineffable,” Wentz says. “But it did come from high up. That’s all I can tell you. Other than Bob’d better do what’s on the note.”
“That’s vague, even for you,” Patrick says. He folds his arms over his chest.
“I’m not saying that bending the rules could be a bad thing,” Wentz says with a shrug.
“What are you saying?” Bob asks.
Wentz shrugs again. “You’re a Demon, because that’s what The List says. But someone put you there for a purpose, albeit not an ineffable one.”
“If you say the universe is counting on me, I will punch you in the throat,” Bob threatens. He narrows his eyes menacingly.
“Nothing like that,” Wentz says with a pop. “It’s not a mistake that you’re on the Naughty List. That’s all.”
“That’s not helpful,” Bob says.
Wentz shrugs. “You owe me payment, Pattycakes.” He then disappears with a pop.
Patrick groans. “He knows a lot more than he’s saying. And if he expects payment, he’ll have to say it all.”
Wentz pops back into Bob’s bathroom. “Not nice, Angel,” he declares. “Maybe you’re on the wrong List, too.”
“I’m not,” Patrick says. “This is about Bob anyway.”
“He just didn’t want to play his harp,” Wentz whispers to Bob.
“Angels don’t have harps,” Patrick grumbles. “And that’s still not the point.”
“Maybe it’s his cherubim cheeks,” Wentz says.
Patrick growls.
Wentz bats his eyelashes at Patrick. “You shouldn’t be so cranky.” He points to Bob. “Especially when that’s been up your ass.”
Bob punches Wentz in the throat. Well, he means to, but Wentz blinks out of existence and back in after Bob nearly stumbles over.
“He’s only trying to rile you up,” Patrick says. “Ignore him.”
“It’s working,” Bob mutters.
“If he expects payment,” Patrick says. “He’d better answer everything to the fullest extent.”
“Bah,” Wentz says. “Fine. But no one’s going to like it.”
He pops out of Bob’s bathroom.
“Go put some clothes on before he comes back,” Brian suggests.
Bob wastes no time bustling out of the bathroom to cover up.
:: :: ::
The note on Bob’s refrigerator has words on it, but they look like they’ve been washed out.
:: :: ::
It takes Wentz three days to pop back into Bob’s bathroom.
“We’re going on a field trip,” he announces.
Bob’s thankfully clothed, because Wentz had waltzed into Bob’s living room. He didn’t know Wentz could leave the bathroom.
“Grab your shoes!” Wentz says. Bob wonders if there’s a way to keep Demons from entering his apartment, but thinks better, because he is a Demon. So that wouldn’t work out too well. “And Patrick and Brian!”
“Brian’s working,” Bob says.
“He’s off shift in, like, two seconds.” Wentz grabs Bob’s hand and leads him out of his apartment.
:: :: ::
Wentz leads Bob, Patrick, and Brian to someplace downtown, and Bob’s not exactly shocked when they head into the basement.
“Is this...?” Patrick asks.
Wentz nods, so Bob thinks at least two people know what the hell is going on. Pete then bangs in a door, and Bob’s been here before. Not here, a basement in New York City, but behind that door.
The walls are deep violet, and Saporta sits with his feet propped up on his desk.
“Welcome,” Saporta says. His creepy grin is firmly in place. “I’ve come topside for you, Bryar.”
“You’re special, dude,” Wentz says. He sits up on Saporta’s desk. Saporta kicks him in the ass.
“And I’m here because Saporta has the answers?” Bob asks.
“You’re here because Gabe is the reason,” Wentz says.
Bob isn’t sure why he didn’t make the connection to begin with: Saporta was the one who gave him his placement. But nothing about Bob’s unlife has been simple; he didn’t exactly expect this part to be.
“You put me on the Naughty List?” Bob asks.
Saporta shrugs and smirks.
“Why?” Bob prompts.
He doesn’t expect a direct answer, so he’s even more surprised when Saporta gives him one.
“Vicky-T needed a decent intern who wouldn’t try to kill her and take her job,” Saporta says.
“So you thought, ‘Let’s take Bob. He once jaywalked.’?” Bob snorts.
“Nah,” Saporta says. “It was all chance.”
“Chance?” Bob feels himself begin to growl. “You fucked with my unlife because you had the chance?”
“I’m a Demon bureaucrat,” Saporta says. He gives Bob that creepy smirk. Of course, Bob totally should have seen that coming, but. He doesn’t belong on the Naughty List.
“At this point, you have a choice to make,” Saporta continues. “Pete wouldn’t stop until he ended here, so, Bryar, you are now in control of the outcome.”
And holy shit, Saporta is damn Evil.
Bob turns to look at Patrick and Brian helplessly. He has no idea what to do.
“If you stay where you are, you still need to do what the post-it notes say,” Saporta says. “If you decide you want to be on the correct List, I don’t have a fucking clue what will happen to you.”
“If you change Lists, you won’t end up on earth,” Brian says. “It’s your choice. Stay here with a Demon boss or… leave.” If Bob didn’t know any better, he’d swear there was an unheard “us” at the end of that sentence. That’s a little too heavy for Bob to process at the moment. He isn’t exactly sure how part of an ‘us’ he is. Or how long that us would last.
“This turmoil is delicious,” Saporta purrs. His purr is just as creepy as his smirk, and Bob feels that he needs to take a long shower when they’re through.
Wentz nods in agreement.
Bob looks to Patrick.
“I made it my mission to Save you,” Patrick says. “So that’s what I did.”
“Well?” Saporta prompts, his grin firmly in place.
“Fuck,” Bob says vehemently.
“It’s seems you’ve been doing a lot of that recently,” Saporta says. “And rescuing puppies without the intent to eat them.”
“Maybe I’m just saving him for later,” Bob responds petulantly.
Saporta cackles along with Wentz.
Bob can’t think. He’s always sucked at making decisions - major decisions - quickly and without the guidance of his mother. (His Momma’s awesome, so shut the fuck up. That does not make him a Momma’s Boy.)
“I’m staying,” Bob says. This is a bureaucratic society he’s stuck in, so he adds, “But I want to negotiate a contract for my terms of employment.”
“Done,” Saporta says. He kicks his feet off the table. “Asher will discuss this with you at a later date.”
Wentz hops off the table and ushers Bob, Patrick, and Brian back up the stairs.
Once they’re all back on the street, Wentz says, “I want my payment, Pattycakes.”
“Fine,” Patrick grumbles. “What do you want this time?”
This time? There were other times?
“Have a mirror set up on your bedroom ceiling for an entire week,” Wentz says with a grin.
“Done,” Patrick agrees. “Starting tomorrow.”
Wentz punches the air in excitement then pops out of existence.
“Pete uses any mirror or reflective surface to do whatever the fuck it is he does,” Brian explains to Bob, who’s a bit confused as to why a mirror would be payment. “He can see out of them or teleport or whatever.”
Patrick turns to Bob. “I’m spending the next week at your place. Keep your mirrors covered.”
“Dude,” Bob says slowly. “Staying at my place isn’t a problem. I mean, I think I just gave up Heaven for you guys.”
Brian smirks at him. “We’re very much aware of that. And very appreciative. I’m taking next week off.”
“I think I will, too,” Patrick decides.
“And so will Bob,” Brian adds. The look he throws Bob’s way is smoldering.
Bob flushes.
“We should hit up a convenience store,” Brian suggests. “We’re almost out of condoms.”
“And I need a mirror,” Patrick adds.
“To not use,” Brian continues.
Bob stands back and lets the banter wash over him as they walk down the street - back to Bob’s apartment. Where they will probably spend the next week.
“We’d better stock up on food, too,” he suggests. “And formula for the puppy.”
He gave up Heaven for these guys, but he’s not about to go hungry for the next week, because there is no way in Hell he’s leaving his apartment in that time.
the end